We. He’d already started saying we.

I’m happy for him, of course. But a little bummed out for myself. Not because I’d like to be part of a we someday—though I would, naturally.

But because now I have to wonder just why Kimberly so obviously lied to me…I mean, unless Steven Andrews is as good an actor as Heath Ledger, which I sort of doubt.

Still, I can’t help but feel happy for Tom.

“So if you’re taking things slow,” I say, “that means you must be planning on sticking around for a while after all, right?”

He shrugs, blushing. “We’ll see,” he says. And goes into his office.

Which reminds me of something else. “So where’s Dr. Death? She coming in today?”

“No, thank God,” Tom says. “Counseling Services has decided that if any more students need to work with grief counselors, they can go across the park.”

“Let me guess,” I say. “Cheryl Haebig stopped by to see Dr. Kilgore a few too many times.”

“I think Cheryl nearly drove Dr. Kilgore to distraction,” Tom says happily. “My office is mine again. All mine! I’m going to the caf to get a tray—a tray—and have breakfast at my desk.”

“Enjoy,” I say happily, thinking how nice it is to have a boss who thinks eating breakfast at his desk is totally appropriate in the workplace. I have really scored in the boss department with Tom. I’m glad he’s not going anywhere. At least, for now.

I am going over the briefing forms when Gavin appears, looking strangely uncomfortable.

“Um, hi, Heather,” he says, standing stiffly in front of my desk. “Is Tom around? I’m supposed to reschedule my alcohol counseling appointment.”

“Yeah, he’s here,” I say. “He just went into the caf to grab something to eat. Have a seat. He should be right back.”

Gavin sits down on the couch next to my desk. But instead of sinking into it, his legs splayed apart obscenely, as he’s tended to do in the past, Gavin sits very straight in his seat, keeping his gaze straight ahead. He doesn’t mess around with the paper clips or McDonald’s Toy Story 2 action figures on my desk, the way he usually does, either.

I stare at him. “Gavin? Are you okay?”

“What?” He blinks at the Monet print on the wall, resolutely not looking at me. “Me? Sure, I’m fine. Why?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “You just seem sort of…distant.”

“I’m not being distant,” Gavin says. “I’m just giving you space.”

It’s my turn to blink. “You’re what?”

Finally, he looks at me.

“You know,” he says. “I’m giving you space. Your friend Cooper told me last night that you really need your space. So I’m trying to give it to you.”

Something cold passes over me. I think it’s foreboding.

“Wait,” I say. “Cooper told you I need space?”

“Yeah,” Gavin says with a nod. “Last night. When he was walking me back here. Which I didn’t need, by the way. I mean, I’m twenty-one years old. I don’t need anyone to escort me back to my dorm.”

“Residence hall,” I say. “And what else did Cooper tell you about me?”

“Well, you know.” Gavin shrugs uncomfortably and turns back to the Monet on the opposite wall. “That you were really, really hurt when his brother Jordan cheated on you, and that you were confused, and you’re still getting over the loss, and aren’t ready for any new romantic relationships—”

“WHAT?” I’ve risen to my feet. “He said what?”

“Well,” Gavin says, turning his head to look at me quizzically, “you know. I mean, on account of how you’re still in love with him—”

My heart seems to explode inside my chest. “In love with WHO?”

“Well, Jordan Cartwright, of course.” Gavin looks taken aback. “Oh, shit,” he adds, when he sees my expression. “I forgot. Cooper said not to tell you what he said—you won’t tell him I told, will you? That guy kinda scares me….”

Gavin’s voice trails off as he stares at me in alarm. I can’t imagine why. Maybe it’s because of the way I’m hanging over my desk with my mouth wide open and my eyes spinning around in their sockets.

“Well, I mean, isn’t that why you don’t want to go to Jordan’s wedding tomorrow?” Gavin is starting to babble. “Because you’re still so in love with him, you can’t stand to see him marry someone else? Because that’s what your friend Cooper thinks, anyway. He thinks that’s why you haven’t been able to move on to someone else, because you’re still mourning Jordan’s loss, and that it will be a while before you get over it—”

The scream starts at the bottom of my feet and rises steadily, like steam from a kettle. I’m about to tilt my head back to let it out when Tom comes staggering into the office, his face white as the snow outside. He’s not carrying a tray with breakfast on it.

“They just found the rest of her,” he says, right before he collapses onto the couch beside Gavin.

The scream disappears.

“The rest of who?” Gavin wants to know.

“Lindsay,” Tom says.

24

They say that only time will tell

Until then, I’m in a living hell

What can I do, what can I say

I can’t BELIEVE how much I weigh.

“Scale”
Written by Heather Wells

Magda is at her cash register, weeping.

“Magda,” I say, for what has to be the fifth time, “just tell me. Tell me what happened.”

Magda shakes her head. Against all laws of physics and hairspray, her hair has collapsed. It droops sadly to one side of her face.

“Magda. Tell me what they found. Tom won’t talk about it. Gerald won’t let anybody into the kitchen. The cops are on their way. Just tell me.”

Magda can’t speak. She is constricted with grief. Pete doesn’t have to argue with any of the residents he is busy herding from the cafeteria—they’re leaving of their own volition, with many nervous glances in Magda’s direction.

Considering the fact that she’s practically keening, I don’t blame them.